The First
by Linnae13
Summary: Damon Salvatore/Brooke Davis oneshot. Brooke has just moved to Mystic Falls, and meets an interested Damon the day she breaks up with a cheating boyfriend. Their short story goes on from there. (My first crossover fic, and my first fic ever posted on this website!)


The first time she'd ever really fallen in love. It felt different, from all the rest, all of the other guys she'd been with. Dated, slept with, tried and failed at making intimate connections. She hadn't realized at the time, of course, that what she was experiencing... it wasn't love. At least, not as strong as this.

This, the pain, the climbs and falls... this was love. And it was more real than anything she had ever felt.

More real, than him or her. More real than either of them, because when they weren't together reality faded, and she saw now, that it had never been as translucent... as clairvoyant as it was when she was with him. When they were together, the whole world came alive.

Every emotion heightened, and anything they'd felt before feeling each other, was like chalk. Dry and plain, easily eroded. What they shared, _when_ they shared, everything was vibrant. Almost blinding.

But Brooke didn't want to see, if it meant being without him; and Damon, had never seen at all, before her.

* * *

_10 months earlier_

"Jackass!"

The records, cracked, their previously shiny black surfaces scratched and dull, hit the inside of the garbage can with a bang. Several people looked, warily curious stares hooking on the girl in a rampage. A mostly quiet one, mind you, but a rampage all the same. That last scream she'd let rip was the only expletive she'd released towards her ex's existence. So far.

She wasn't near done, and she wasn't near done with _him _yet, either.

Brooke Davis- previously head cheerleader of her senior class, before she'd graduated and moved _here_, to Mystic Falls- was pissed.

Waiting on college for a year, taking time to "relax" and "find herself" as her mother and father had so kindly advised, before starting school again, was why she was here. Living in a small town, yet another place filled with cheating assholes.

Men just loved playing with her heart it seemed, and it was safe to say that Brooke Davis, was sick of it. She didn't mind taking a year off of school, to be completely honest, or moving away. She wasn't quite sure yet what she wanted to do with her future, and New York had nothing left for her. She'd lived her entire life in that big city, loved it, and still missed it from time to time, but something about this tiny town she now resided in called to her. It wasn't so much the place, but more the atmosphere. Brooke apparently liked small towns, she hadn't known it until recently, though.

She also hadn't known that she would find a guy here, somebody she had grown to care about. It appeared men were the same everywhere, though, unfortunately.

"Pfft! Yeah, unfortunate for _him._" She muttered to herself, gladly ignoring the strange looks she got from people passing. Joey was going to get an earful, and seriously miss his precious records. The guy worked at a music store, it was the most logical target, to go after something he loved.

Something else she wondered if he loved was that skank he'd cheated on her with. He had a thing for blondes, Brooke had known it from the first. Once the jerk had even suggested she dye her hair. She should have known then not to trust a man who wanted you to change your appearance.

Running a hand through her dark auburn hair, Brooke wondered idly how she'd ever gotten to this point. How she'd noticed him, gone into that music shop and feigned ignorance on what her taste was, just to flirt a bit. It had gotten her the guy, but then it had also, gotten her here.

She was just thankful she hadn't fallen in love with him. She cared about him, was maybe a hop and skip away from getting in too deep, but luckily he'd been really sloppy in his little affair.

So sloppy in fact, that she still had the image of them in her brain. Who made a sex tape these days anyway? And just left it in the living room, near the DVDs and other videos? It's like he was asking for it to be found by a curious girlfriend, and Brooke was sickened by the fact she'd ever slept with the witless asshole.

So when she finally reached his work, the little music store on Peach Street, her eyes were daggers, and the stomps of her heels were threatening to break her new shoes.

He was wrapped up in a customer. A buxom blonde wearing a low neckline and too much cheap lip gloss. Brooke's eyes narrowed. "How typical."

She stormed forward, and missed the gentleman in the corner. Piercing blue eyes, a wicked mouth and his attention, not usually so easily caught by strange women in music stores, focused. On her.

Damon glanced down at the CD in his hands, and then back up. Asides from the facts that the brunette two sections over was gorgeous, with porcelain skin and expressive eyes, sexy legs and a walk to match, she was also angry.

Actually, that might have been putting it lightly. Damon almost felt sympathy for the dumber-than-average high school dropout he'd had to endure talking with not ten minutes ago. The kid might know enough about music, but his alphabetizing talents were severely lacking.

But Damon had a feeling the infuriated beauty stalking up to the dude wasn't upset about anything quite so trivial.

"Brooke-"

"Found another hookup, Joey?"

The guy blinked, then cast a quick look at the girl behind him. "Hookup? What are you talking about?"

"Oh, don't you even _try_ and play innocent." A manicured nail was pointed in his face. "I knew you weren't the sharpest guy I'd ever dated, but I didn't know until now how completely lacking in a brain you were!"

He sputtered. The guy actually sputtered, and Damon and to bite back a laugh.

The Brooke girl wasn't done yet. "You might've thought to hide that little **tape** somewhere else, but knowing you," she ran those fiery eyes, filled with disgust and scorn, over his body and back up to his face, "you probly liked watching it on repeat."

Joey's eyes widened, and then he looked both putout and chagrined at the same time; though the latter emotion wasn't very sincere, Damon guessed. "How do you know it wasn't an old tape?"

Brooke scoffed a laugh, and humorless as it was, Damon had to bite his bottom lip to refrain from chuckling. "The date's written on the label, dumbass."

Joey swallowed, obviously realizing he was found guilty at this point. "Look, it was only- It meant nothing, Brooke-"

"I bet it didn't, it only lasted what, three minutes?" She cocked her head, hands on hips, and Joey's expression changed from repentant to angry. "I'm surprised you had enough tape for such a marathon."

She spun away on that sarcastic sneer, and marched her cute little butt to the door. Damon watched as Joey huffed petulantly, then, caught by the sway of his (ex)girlfriend's ass, quickly tried to follow her. His apology was hasty and selfish, it was obvious from the look in his eyes.

"Baby, wait-"

She turned around and cut him off. "Don't you _dare_ 'baby' me!" Stepping forward so she was right in his face, repulsion written all over hers, Brooke said, "You and I _are over_."

She cast a glance at the blonde in the corner, who had frozen at the beginning of all of this. "You might wanna lay _off_ of this one, he's a cheating scumbag."

Damon smirked at the way she said it, because as mad as the girl was, she was beautiful when she was cutting a man down to half his size.

And just when he thought it was over...

She turned around again, this time, a triumphant gleam in her eye. "Oh yeah, when you get home, don't be surprised if a few of your things are missing." She started to leave again, only to be stopped by Joey's frantic question.

"What's missing?!"

"Oh, just all of your records."

Joey ran up to her before she could exit, and he grabbed her arm. Brooke looked both indignant and alarmed, but she shoved him off. Joey stayed. "Where are they, Brooke?"

"In the trash," she stated hatefully, and glared. "Maybe you can find that floozy you slept with right next to them."

Damon whistled low, watching as, the young woman who could probably give Katherine a run for her money, stomped off. Joey was speechless, and pissed, but obviously feeling like too much of an ass to do anything about his lost musical collection. The nameless blonde slipped out of the store, and Damon, setting his CD back in its place, wasn't too far behind her.

He turned left when he caught sight of Miss Brooke, and he ran a little to catch up with her. Her ground eating strides were violent, and he wouldn't be surprised if the sidewalk cracked beneath those sexy little heels.

"Quite a show that was," was Damon's opening line. He slowed down now that he was next to her, able to keep in step as she offered two for his every one.

"Thanks, I've had practice." Her voice was sardonic, full of disdain.

Damon smiled, and flashed it her way. She was even more gorgeous up close, delicate nose and a sharp tongue to go with that tempting mouth. He was intrigued. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said, a touch of honest regret in his tone. It caught her attention, but only enough for a glance. "I'm Damon."

"Well Damon, do you make it a habit of hitting on women who've just broken up with cheating pigs of your gender?"

He held up his hands, turning and continuing his walk backwards as he faced those glinting hazel eyes. Blue and green and brown all swirled into one vibrant gaze. "Who said I was hitting on you?"

She gave him a look that said, "What do I look like, an idiot?" but her voice didn't rebuke him.

He was emboldened just by that fact. "Alright, fine. But honestly now," he shrugged, "I was wondering if I could buy you a congratulatory drink."

"Congratulatory?" She raised an eyebrow at him. "What, for dating an asshole?"

"No, for breaking up with one and making him feel like a dog in the process."

She made a face that looked slightly proud even within the rage and the hurt, and Damon frowned, because he hadn't noticed the hurt until just then.

Stepping in front of her, raising a hand to rest it above their heads against a light pole, he broke her stride and asked, "So, drink?"

She glared at him and his cocky smirk. She was in just a bad enough mood to smack it off if he didn't leave her alone. "I'm not ready for a rebound just yet, buddy, so why don't you go find someone else to bother."

She walked around him, and Damon's gaze followed. Short floral skirt twitching, jumping back and forth with her movements; his eyes were drawn from ankle to thigh. Four inches of strappy sandal, a mouthwatering hemline, and a brown halter completed her ensemble. This one took pride in her clothes. She was beautiful, witty, and stylish. A girly girl with a very hardened edge to her that Damon knew could be softened by the right person.

Intrigued just went up to slightly fixated. "What made you date a guy with a Hawaiian dancer tattoo, anyway?" he called to her, if only to see what response she'd give him.

She wasn't going to stop, truly she wasn't, or even answer. It was no matter that the man was hot, and soothing her bruised ego; but on one particularly angry stomp, her heel broke.

Brooke looked down at her broken shoe, and it was a good thing she didn't see Damon's wince of sympathy, because if she did she might have thrown her ruined footwear at him.

Instead, she screeched through clenched teeth, and bent down to undo her shoe strap. Brooke humphed. As she was muttering about her luck, annoyed to no end, she heard Damon's voice again; this time it was much closer.

"I don't know why you even dated the guy to begin with, he's clearly not good enough for you." He stood above her, a slightly concerned frown on his handsome face.

"Oh and _you_ know what's good enough for me?" she snapped, tugging off her sandal and immediately undoing the other one next.

"Don't be so cynical." He smirked again- at her tone, at his assurance -and quirked an eyebrow. "I very well might."

She narrowed her eyes at that suggestive look, and shook her head in disbelief, staring up at his form standing in the sunlight. "You really think highly of yourself, don't you?"

He offered her his hand. "Only the best do, sweetheart."

Brooke stood and- pointedly ignoring his hand, to which Damon's eyebrows rose -put her own hands on her hips. She held both of her shoes in one of those hands, and being barefoot, it was hard not to notice the difference in height this man had over her.

Of course, it didn't threaten her in the least, and she stuck her chin up high, meeting his magically bright blue eyes. Brooke ignored those as best she could. "Yeah, and the best don't like being called 'sweetheart' by complete strangers."

"I'm not a stranger," Damon shook his head, smiling easily. "I told you my name, and _you_," he pointed at her, "Miss Brooke, should be called sweetheart every day... by a guy who is good enough for you."

She stared at him, caught between a scowl and a helpless sniffle. Her anger was fading and that meant she needed to be alone, _soon_, or she'd start crying in public. Drawing herself up, Brooke looked directly into those sapphire eyes and said, "Well, it looks like it will take that guy a while to show up."

With her pride, and a haughty swerve, she marched down the sidewalk in her bare feet, sandals swinging and skirt twitching. Damon blinked slowly, lazily, as he watched her; and a smirk creased his lips. She was a beautiful, heartfelt girl with emotions running on high all the time. She could never turn them off.

And perhaps _that_ was why, Damon didn't plan on letting her.

* * *

It was three weeks later they saw each other again. Brooke was in her room, getting dressed for a charity gala of some sort held by one of the richer families in Mystic Falls. She wouldn't have even gotten an invitation if she hadn't been asked by one of her friends in town to go along.

And the only reason Brooke hadn't declined said invitation was because it was Saturday, she had nothing else to do, and she could wear one of her nicest dresses and drink alcohol- with discretion, of course.

Strapping up her ankles in silvery Prada, dabbing on red lipstick, and trotting out of her paid-for condo when her friend beeped the car horn was easy peasy. The drive there, listening to good music and laughing at the descriptions of the guests she was about to meet, also easy, and rather fun. Entering a mansion filled with elegantly dressed women and men, feeling discretely watched as if she was some new addition to a flock of birds, and checking out the cuties in suits? All comfortable and familiar territory for Brooke Davis.

Meeting a pair of very familiar blue eyes from across the room when she hadn't even gotten a glass of champagne yet? Not so easy, or fun or familiar. As a matter of fact, she'd never experienced the kind of jolt she'd felt just then.

Dodging him had become her plan immediately. Brooke found a place with her friend, near the band, talking to more than a few gracious male twenty-five year olds who looked like they could be Abercrombie & Fitch models.

It was safe to say she was quickly on the road to recovery from the Joey fiasco. She'd found all the flaws in that relationship not long after dumping him, and Brooke had gained perspective. She was ready to mingle her single little ass around this town, and stay safely away from any smirking blue-eyed strangers that caught her interest _way_ too easily. So she kept close to the one person she knew at the party, but didn't object when the girl finally left her to dance with some cute boy who was a senior at Princeton.

With a silent toast to her good fortune, Brooke smiled encouragingly at her friend, and drained the rest of her champagne. She pouted at the empty glass, and Jake... No, Josh. Yes, Josh, was offering to get her another one. She nodded with a thank you and a smile, and mentally promised herself not to get wasted tonight.

She was already having trouble remembering names and didn't want to do something stupid in such a close knit place like Mystic Falls, especially when she was still a newbie.

Brooke stood patiently waiting, her arms crossed, watching the array of dancing couples on the glistening ballroom floor. There were suits of the highest quality, and a suit always made a man more attractive, more distinguished looking. Pair him up with a pretty woman in a fabulous dress, and the dance floor was a sea of beauty. Brooke smiled at the sight.

The smile faltered when she heard a voice, close by her ear. "You look beautiful in red."

Brooke swallowed and tried to relax, letting out a silent breath, she said, "Thanks."

Damon was close enough to see the haughty little tilt of her chin, and smirked despite himself. He hadn't been lying about that compliment he'd given her, she was gorgeous, and tonight he believed her to be fit for the red carpet.

A long dress of chiffon elegantly traced her body, gliding over her form in a tantalizing imitation of clothing. It was more like a testosterone magnet. Red and vibrant, luring. Her lipstick was the heaviest makeup on that pretty face, sexy heels that caught his eye every time her dress swished the right way allowed him glimpses of her dainty feet; Damon wanted to have her in his arms.

"Did you know it's my favorite color," he murmured, moving in close enough so she would feel his breath on the nape of her neck. "And if it wasn't, you would have made it so tonight."

Brooke wanted to _want_ to roll her eyes, and managed the act with only the most forceful of wills, but didn't rebut him. She didn't protest when she felt his fingertips lightly glide along her neck, moving a lock of hair out the way so he could touch. Her silent gasp wasn't to be helped, and her pulse skyrocketed.

Damon heard it, but she didn't know that. With a peripheral glance at the jock at the bar, getting two more drinks- one for Brooke, one for himself - Damon leaned in to speak softly in his date's ear. "Dance with me."

He'd phrased it as both a question and a demand, and Brooke found herself following when he took her hand and lead her out onto the dance floor. Into a waltz, into his arms, secure and feeling oddly... placed.

"I didn't come here with you," she stated, "why aren't you dancing with your date?" Assuming he'd brought one. The man was too hot to go to these sorts of things alone.

"You are my date, Miss Brooke Davis." Damon smirked at her look of surprise, and then suspicion.

"How do you know my full name?" she asked.

Another smirk. "I have my ways."

She narrowed her eyes and lifted one finely shaped eyebrow. "Like asking around about the newest resident in a town with less than three thousand people in it?"

Damon spun smoothly and twirled her, once, twice, then tugged her in close. Their noses almost touched. "Clever girl."

"Nosy man."

He stepped to the left, her gliding effortlessly along. "I prefer the term 'curious.'"

"Hmm," she smiled saccharine sweet, "I don't really care what you prefer. Although," he spun her as the music changed, a slower more intimate song waving over the dancers, "if we're talking terms, I'd like to suggest one more."

Damon released a hand to hold her out from him, then brought her back in close. "And what's that?"

His eyes sparked, like when someone tries to light a match, and Brooke focused on them, and the way they focused on her. "Stalker."

"Not my style, honey."

"Then what is your style, _Mr._ Damon?" She raised a challenging brow.

He moved his arm from her waist to her lower back, sliding his hand to rest comfortably at the feminine arc of her spine. Their bodies meshed, heated, attracted. Feeling every inch of her lithe little form pressed up against him, his nerves hummed. "Asking beautiful women out to dinner, _whilst_ dancing with them and being the most **envied** man in the entire room."

Brooke swallowed hard. She couldn't let him know how fast her heart was beating, and she sent thanks up to whoever was listening that she wasn't stumbling over her own feet.

He was such a charmer, and a practiced one at that. Yet there was a genuineness in his tone and manner that most men usually lacked when just trying to seduce and girl. Believe her, Brooke knew how to tell the difference.

This one was... special. She couldn't put her finger on why, though; or why he was so interested in her. "Why do you keep on flirting with me?"

Damon frowned at her, like she had just said something ridiculous; and also like he wasn't one hundred percent sure of his answer. "You're... special."

Okay, using the same word she'd just used to describe _him_ in her head. What, was the guy a mind reader or something? "Why do you think that?"

"Go out to dinner with me and I'm sure I'll have several _more_ reasons to add to my list."

He twirled her, and Brooke smiled, closed ruby lips compressing and curling at the ends. She wasn't sure, should she take another chance...

He hugged her to him, and as she raised her head, their eyes suddenly locked. Like the snapping of a picture, the flash and the click. They stayed like that for no more than a moment before she looked down at their moving feet, to break the rush.

But she knew.

Wispy and rough, her voice like leaves in the wind, Brooke said, "When and where?"

* * *

They met up a few days later, and after that date another quickly came, and another. They spent time together like the minutes revolved around each other, like seconds passed when they weren't together but time stood still when they were.

Days collided like dominos falling, one following the other. It was fast to when a month had passed and they'd shared their first night with each other. At his house, the one he'd inherited from his uncle, a beautiful tall, elegant old home with a fireplace in the living room and tasteful brown leather couches. She was in awe of the entire place, and that was a feat in itself, to impress Brooke Davis; the daughter who'd been surrounded by expensive taste her whole life.

But this wasn't just expensive, it was real and homey in its own mysteriously elegant way. Very Damon, she'd decided.

That first night had passed in a haze of hunger and connection. Bodies and hearts merging, tying together as one. They hadn't truly realized it, but had glorified in the feelings and the sensations of being with each other, of being intimate more than with a simple kiss. Brooke ended up staying at Damon's for a week, and not leaving the bedroom for most of it.

Sometimes, all they did was sleep. When the time came for Damon to spend the night at her condo, he hadn't so much as seen her naked. They'd spent the entirety of the time resting with each other, talking, having dinner, laughing.

Then their first fight had arrived, as it was inevitable to do so, but it hadn't been your classic lovers' spat.

You might not even be able to call it a fight, though there had been yelling...

* * *

Brooke stood in front of a freezer, in the basement of his home. Damon had never showed this part of the house to her, and she hadn't considered why. Being at his place alone for the first time, having been given a key and gotten here before he had, she'd let herself in.

They were supposed to have dinner together, he was cooking for her.

Brooke had brought ice cream for dessert, and found out from a note in the kitchen that Damon's refrigerator just happened to be broken. The inside of the machine smelled gross, even if it was emptied out. He had never had much of a variety in his kitchen, so she hadn't thought it strange he'd been able to get rid of all his food within such a short time of his fridge breaking.

But she hadn't told him about the ice cream, and so Brooke, being the intelligent cookie that she was, had thought to go into the basement. Some people kept larger freezers for meats and stuff in their homes, and Damon had once told her he hunted sometimes (which she so didn't approve of).

He didn't tell her what he hunted, though.

So Brooke went into the basement, fortunately not having to search very hard for the door, and set out to find the freezer (if there was one). She only hoped she wouldn't see dead animal carcass in it if she located it.

She didn't.

Scrunching her face in preparation for a possibly icky sight as she lifted the lid, no dead bodies of any sort were found.

Yet there was blood. Bags of it. Bags of-

"Human blood?"

Brooke frowned, hard, staring at the bag of O-negative in her hands.

What in the hell could Damon-

"What are you doing down here?"

She started, dropping the bloodbag back into the pile with the others. Brooke whirled around and met the accusing stare of her boyfriend. "What- What is this, Damon?"

She hadn't heard him approach, the guy was quiet as a mouse. Now, he looked angry, and with a face as hard as granite, stared at her with unfathomable eyes. He stepped foward and she backed up, bumping into the ice cream that she'd dropped when she'd first opened the lid to that freezer.

"You weren't supposed to come down here."

She swallowed, taking another step, this time to the side. "I was looking for a place to put the ice cream," she gestured at the bag by her feet, speaking shakily, "I- I didn't expect to find a freezer full of _blood_." She swallowed again, her mind was spinning. "A-Are you giving illegal transfusions or something?"

Damon shut the freezer lid and approached her, his eyes guarded, not full of light as they usually were. It scared her. "Not exactly," he said, his voice emotionless. "Brooke... I need it for myself."

She blinked, her frown deepening. Her mind focused now, on him, on his words, the strange look on his face; Brooke's fear dissipated in the shadow of confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I-..." He scoffed. With a self depreciating, humorless grin, and pain flickering in his gaze, Damon said, "There's something I haven't told you... about me."

Casting a swift glance at the freezer one more time, Brooke's hazel eyes held a myriad of questions. Fear was building again as she asked, "What are you talking about?"

Damon took another step toward her, almost thanking her when she didn't step away. He hated that look of fright in her eyes, it was eating at him worse than any rejection ever could. "Brooke, I'm..." he took a breath, "I'm a vampire."

She blinked several times in quick succession. "You're a what?"

"I know it's hard to believe, but it's... it's the truth."

Brooke started to smile, thinking he was pulling a joke, when his expression stopped her. Damon always cracked a grin when he was kidding about something.

There was no grin. Her eyes caught on the freezer again. Her pulse sped up, he took a step towards her, reaching for her hands, but she pulled them back. The wince on his face was hard to witness. "Damon, you're talking crazy."

"No, I'm not," he rested his arms at his sides. Then, with a sigh of what she guessed was resignation, he looked down.

When his gaze met hers again, it changed. Veins of black and deep red centered around his once blue eyes, and he opened his mouth on a hiss, fangs descended.

Brooke felt her feet break into a run, her lungs expand, and her heartbeat pounded. She was up to the second floor in less than thirty seconds.

He beat her there. She gasped, and tried to go for the front door, only to meet Damon's chest as he blurred in front of her. He grabbed her arms and she couldn't even scream.

"Don't run from me!"

"Let go of me!" She struggled, and then winced when his grip tightened.

"I won't hurt you, Brooke! Calm down, _please_, just let me explain!"

His eyes, his voice, his entire countenance was desperate. It tugged at her heart, but he looked normal now. He wasn't vein-faced or fanged, or wearing a gaze of obsidian black. He was just Damon, _her_ Damon.

But she didn't know him at all, it turned out.

"What are you?! Why won't you let me out of here-"

"I'll let you out as soon as you calm down and listen to me!"

She was shaking in his arms and her eyes were teary. Damon fought against the urge to just let her leave, let her run away. She might never come back, but he couldn't bear to see her be afraid of him. He needed her to understand. "Brooke, shh shh," He placed his palm against the side of her face, staring into her eyes, "I would never hurt you, do you understand me? _Never_."

The last word was said with so much conviction, that it leant her pause. Slowly her pulse slowed down, Brooke's eyes focused on his, and she gulped. Staying her nerves, trying to calm down, she nodded. She felt in her heart she would never come to harm at Damon's hand. She knew that.

She just didn't know what he was.

So he told her.

* * *

It was after that night, that their relationship changed. It didn't change for the worse, though at first it might have seemed that way, but instead headed for higher ground. Mature footing, a connection neither could or wanted to break, had been formed.

Brooke was separating herself from him, or at least, that's what she tried to do. Instead, she ended up depriving herself of something she vitally needed. Passionately wanted.

His love.

He'd given his heart to her, after he had told her all that he was. His eating habits, his bloodlust, his daylight ring; his powers of speed, strength, and compulsion.

Everything.

And she believed him when he told her he'd never used any weird compelling crap on her. Still, to ease her mind, he'd given her a bracelet to wear which was laced with vervain.

She hadn't accepted it.

But she'd accepted his love, and not a week later, after they'd thoroughly worn out her bed and her sheets were effectively ruined, stained now with blood from bitey marks she'd allowed him to take, Brooke had told him she loved him back.

It was safe to say, that not much threatened to break them apart after that.

* * *

Of course, everyone has enemies.

Especially those who had once been unrepentant murderers way in the past, a fact Brooke was aware of- and didn't exactly like -but accepted because Damon was no longer that person.

She knew, believed, he had changed; and while she also knew that part of him would always be just that, a part of him, she accepted it. She loved all of him.

What she didn't love, was almost getting killed by vengeful vampires with tacky fashion taste and bad haircuts.

"Ow! Hey!" Brooke struggled against her binds, her bruised face fury filled and masking all fear. "Let me go you freaking Harpy!"

That insult was, of course, thrown at the idiot's nails. She had a dragon-lady manicure, too much lipstick on in a very unflattering color, and her outfit screamed clearance rack. She had wavy black hair, unsettling eyes of murky green, and a pale complexion.

Well, what did Brooke expect on that last part? She was a vampire. Though apparently, she didn't own a daylight ring. Which was precisely why the bitch had kidnapped her when she did.

Otherwise, she wouldn't have made such a risky move.

Brooke had been walking to the Mystic Grill, to grab a drink and play some pool with her favorite fanged boy-toy, when she was wrestled into a dark alley. She'd screamed, bitten, kicked and flailed uncoordinatedly. It didn't do any good.

Then she was shown a very vampire-y countenance, the one of her female attacker, who had whispered harshly something about revenge against Damon Salvatore.

Then Brooke was knocked unconscious.

She woke up only to be tossed to the ground and hit a few times in the face to halt her struggles, weakening her by the force of their blows so Vampira, Queen of the Tasteless, could tie her up to a rusty old pipe.

Her wrists were already chafing beneath the rope, and her back was stiff. Her neck had a crick in it from hanging at a weird angle she was sure, and her jaw was throbbing.

And by the look on bitch-unnamed's face, if Brooke insulted her anymore, she might get a few more bruises...

She settled for a toneless question. "What do you want with me?"

The Harpy waved a dramatically manicured hand, her eyes calculating. "You're collateral damage, sweetie."

Brooke narrowed her eyes as the vampire walked away, her back turned. "Collateral damage for _what_, why the hell do you want to hurt Damon?"

That last, her asking of Damon's relevance in this crazy kidnapping, caused the woman's back to stiffen. She swirled to face her, eyes hard. "That is none of your business, little girl."

Brooke rolled her eyes at the condescension, and, her voice laced with boredom, added, "It is my business when I'm a pawn in some game of petty revenge."

The bitch's eyes flared. "It isn't petty-!"

Brooke, a plan forming in her brain, boldly cut her off, "And especially when I'm being used for something that won't get you anywhere in _any_ plan, petty or not."

A dispassionate glint showed in the vampire's eyes, and Brooke, inwardly, urged herself on. Maybe she could convince her that she'd grabbed the wrong girl to get Damon's attention. Maybe, just maybe, she could get freed and then warn him he was in danger. _Maybe_... "I don't know why you think holding me hostage will get any sort of reaction from Damon, I barely know the guy." Her face took on a look of uninterested indifference. "I actually don't even like him, he bugs me. We're not close."

Miss Madam Harpy scrutinized her.

Abruptly, a voice called from the other room, "Georgina, get in here!"

Brooke watched as, with impatience and a groan, the vampire stepped out, shouting through the air to whoever had called her. Brooke considered screaming, but she knew that the man, whoever he was, was most likely a crony, and yelling would only get her another bruise. The room she was being held in looked like the basement in a factory- Or, it looked like a boiler room in a factory basement. The walls were rusty and metal, the light in the ceiling was covered by a cage, which was covered with dust; the door was heavy with a bolt lock, and there was an old rat trap in the corner underneath a table.

With a grimace, Brooke tried to wriggle free of her binds. Biting her lip to prevent a moan when her neck cracked painfully, heat spreading beneath her skin. She sighed, and waited for the pain to ease.

When it did, the door suddenly burst open. Georgina strolled hurriedly in and went immediately for her hands. "Not close, huh? Then why did he come like a rabid dog to his death after I sent him a little note explaining that I had you in my not so hospitable care?"

Brooke grunted when her hands were freed and she was jerked to her feet. Her mind reeled, Damon was here, which meant he was in trouble now.

She heard the grin in Georgina's voice. "This plan worked out almost a little too well, don't ya think, Brooke?"

She gasped when a knife was held swiftly to her throat. Swallowing, she edged as far away from the blade as she could. Then Damon appeared in the doorway, and his eyes widened and focused on the scene in front of him. His breath ceased and the blood in his veins froze.

"Get the knife away from her."

She laughed at the command, "Well, I see someone made quicker work of my minions than I thought he would. You've gotten smarter since we last saw each other, Damon."

Brooke shook her head, making desperate eye contact with him. She didn't want him to die, and she had a bad feeling about what could happen here.

She didn't want to risk him. "Damon, leave-!"

"Shut up!" Georgina silenced her with a nudge at her throat. It drew a drop of blood and Brooke flinched. Damon visibly restrained himself from lunging, and then the Harpy was talking again, "Damon, see that stake on the table?"

He didn't even glance at it, but she continued anyway. "Embed yourself with it. In the heart."

"No!"

A yank on her hair silenced her, and Damon was virtually trembling. With either rage or fear, she didn't know.

It was both. He made a move to the table, Brooke almost yelled again but refrained when Georgina tightened the grip on her hair.

He picked up the pointed wooden object that looked like it had been carved from a chair leg, and Damon held it up to his chest. "Let her go first."

"Fine," Georgina threw Brooke to the floor, who muffled her groan as best she could. "Now do it."

She bit off the words, her tone impatient, but Damon only smirked. "Thanks."

"For what, you lowly piece of-"

Just like that, the stake was thrown, and implanted into her chest. Brooke watched in abject horror and shock, as her captor crumbled slowly, graying, to the ground. Her eyes and face crumpled into stony ash, her limbs froze in place like a stiff doll, and Brooke couldn't remove her eyes even as she was dragged up from the floor and brought into strong protective arms.

Familiar arms which closed around her and turned her around to face concerned blue eyes, an apologetic countenance looking her over and frowning at the marks on her face.

The rest of that night passed so slowly, she didn't think she would ever forget a moment of it. Damon had brought her back to his place and explained who Georgina had been, why she'd sought revenge against him.

It was all in honest protection, the staking of Georgina's mother, who had held Stefan Salvatore's life in her unmerciful hands one night back in 1980. Damon had acted on protective familial instinct, and unfortunately, Georgina had been there to witness it.

She was only in her early twenties, and she hadn't been a vampire at the time. No, she'd gotten herself turned into one, and then waited a certain amount of years to get strong enough to hopefully destroy the one who'd killed her mom.

She'd kept tabs on Damon for years, and only recently, had sought taking advantage of someone she believed was a new girlfriend. Brooke was supposed to be an easy opening for Georgina to get her way.

Of course, it hadn't worked out for her. She was neither stronger, nor anywhere near clever enough, to kill Damon Salvatore.

Or the woman he loved.

"I will never, _ever_, let anything happen to you again. _I promise you that_."

It was with those words, with his hands cupping her bruised face, his eyes as sincere as those of a determined man in love, that Brooke fell asleep. Peaceful, trusting, and in the arms of the man, the vampire, she loved. The one she adored and knew she could never live without.

* * *

The one who also made her start drinking vervain tea after the Georgina incident. He told her it was so that if any vampire tried to bite her, he'd get a mouthful of burning plasma rather than a tasty drink. Including him, unfortunately.

With a little arguing, he'd finally won and Brooke had begun consuming the tea. Fortunately, it didn't taste bad at all, she just wished he would stop fretting over her all of the time.

He didn't, though; not for a long time. It took him a while to relax after she'd almost been killed because of him; and one night, after months and months had gone by, their relationship having gotten stronger and heartier over that time, he asked her if she'd ever consider becoming like him.

"A vampire?"

He nodded, his anxiety miserably hidden within burning blue eyes. "Yes. N-Not... Not right now, just possibly, in the future." At her blank look that spoke vehemently of both confusion and wonder, he continued, "I don't want to live without you, Brooke. Never. If, in a few years- or hell, in a decade -you're still loving me, still here, _with_ _me_," he took her hand and held it against his chest, staring into her eyes with his insecurities and his heart bared for her. "Would you want to spend an eternity with me?"

The question was insurmountable, the idea of forever and eternity made her chest tighten. But the concept, as scary as it was, of being a vampire, _didn't_ frighten her.

She would have the best teacher to help her live that way, and she'd still be able to go out into the sun with a ring on, and she'd still have a reflection, and she'd be strong. He wouldn't have to worry about her as much anymore. He wouldn't have to think of losing her, ever.

She wouldn't have to let him go, either. And she already knew that losing him, would be much scarier than any thought of forever.

"Yes, I would definitely..." she smiled at the look in his eyes, the light slowly starting to soften his face, "_definitely_ consider it."

Damon Salvatore kissed his girl, the woman he loved, and their bonds were strengthened. No shadows fell over them, and a year later, after Brooke had started school, and Damon was a very, very content vampire who helped her with math and fashionable studies on fabrics and boring topics of business, he asked her to marry him.

They were engaged, and their wedding came in autumn. It was a small ceremony. One half of the twelve wedding tables reserved for vampire kin of Damon's; the other half of them were given to Brooke's parents, and whoever it was they wanted to invite from the family (not many of whom Brooke herself knew, but at least both mom and dad had settled on such a small party).

That night the Salvatore and Davis families mingled and drank, enjoyed the beauty of a couple so in love you could almost reach out and feel it. A sensation of warmth crept over those who looked at the way they watched each other, who saw the way their hands interlocked as if meant to; and it stayed that way for all eternity.


End file.
